She was small in stature but large in our lives. Exie Dee Fitzgerald was not much taller than her name was long, but she was the mother of my mother. Exie Dee was born in 1891 in Leon, Oklahoma in spite of the rumors she rode on a buckboard seat into Oklahoma Indian Territory during a land rush. She raised two children in Ardmore and herded eight grandchildren in Texas. (‘Herded’ is the appropriate word.)

When my son was three or four, she asked him, “What do you want to call me? Great Grandmother, Granny, GG, or what?”

The boy thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll call you GG, and you can call me BJ.” The name stuck. I never felt right calling her Granny or Grandma – ‘Grandmother’ seemed more fitting, or at least it did until BJ renamed her.

Here are some strong memories:

• • She ran the nursery at First Methodist Church in Ardmore for more years than I can remember. It was one of the few times I ever heard her sing as she rocked crying infants or engaged toddlers in a singsong. Her voice was soft and happy.
  • Speaking of happy, she would yell “Whoop-de-do” when she won playing the domino game called 42. Then she patted the dominoes rather than shuffle them around. I always regretted not having her teach me how to play.
  • As kids, we slept on a pile of blankets she would call a ‘pallet’, but we would call a ‘pile-it’. During good weather nights, we would drag those ‘pile-its’ to the screened-in back porch to catch more cool breezes.
  • She had an old claw-footed bathtub that required stepping up on a soapbox or stool to enter or exit. She would remind us, “Don’t forget to mop up all the water you splash out!” She had the cleanest bathroom floor in all of Ardmore with all the splashing experienced and mopping required.
  • It seemed she cooked carrots, potatoes, and fresh green beans every day. Those made up for the minimal meat she could afford. I once asked her if we could have Mexican food for dinner. Her response was, “Certainly. There is a Mexican restaurant on the east side of town, and it’s not that far of a walk.” I ate carrots, potatoes, and fresh green beans.
  • Across the street and down the block was a neighborhood store complete with a rack full of comic books. I spent what seemed like hours reading one after another until I heard, “Hey, boy! This ain’t no lie-bear-y!” (Well, that was what the owner sounded like to me.) I’d make a selection, pull a dime from my pocket, and drop it on the counter as I hurriedly left.
  • I always wanted to use a metal detector across her backyard. Many people who lived through the Depression did not trust banks. So, they buried money in coffee cans in their yards. I just knew Grandmother did that, but I never did test my theory.
  • Her garage was a treasure trove of time. There were old, yellowing newspapers and magazines to read while sitting on old buckets of dried paint. Old chairs in need of repair but long forgotten hung from rusty nails. Wooden and wrought iron bedsteads covered in years of dust leaned against the back wall. Framed pictures and drawings of relatives of old and forgotten were stacked and slowly decaying. It was a museum of her past.
  • There were two centerpieces in that garage-museum. First was the smell that blended mold, dust, mildew, decay, and personal history. I can still recognize that smell even though I have not returned to that place in almost 50 years. 
  • The second centerpiece was her 1948 Ford Sedan, though I cannot remember if it was a two-door or four. It was either darkening brown or old red in color compounded by its age. I would ride with her to church (and an ice cream afterward). She would drive us once a week to Piggly Wiggly to shop for more carrots, potatoes, and green beans. (Did I mention that was a staple?)

Eventually, the family had to move her to Texas to care for her. I was grown, married, and traveling for a veterinary pharmaceutical company. She flashed a big smile when I picked her up on a Monday morning and said, “Would you like to go see your friends in Ardmore?” We laughed and shared stories during that two-hour trip. On our return, we stopped in Marietta at the Broken Cookie Store, as the family had on so many other trips. We ate cookies all the way back to Arlington.

Grandmother left us on June 30, 1980, at the age of 88. Well done, good and faithful servant. Rest in Peace.